


Make This Leap

by noblet



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M, Regret, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8131156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblet/pseuds/noblet
Summary: “What are we doing?” Stephen's eyes crinkle as he smiles and asks the question. His heart is racing.

  Jon, mind too muddled to think up some grand answer, tells the truth.

  "I don't know. I don’t know. I didn’t think you were actually going to- uh-" he makes a vague motion with his hands "- you’re good at that.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the fact that Stephen [stayed in the city](http://www.ew.com/article/2016/09/22/stephen-colbert-donald-trump-election-debates) during the convention weeks.

_“Slowing down?” Stephen asks, cheek resting on his palm. Jon gives him a sheepish look._

_“I should stop, huh?”_

_Stephen’s eyes flit down to the four empty glasses in front of him, amused. “Only if you want to.”_

_“I should, I…_ don't _usually do this. Drink this-that-this much, I mean."_

_Stephen shrugs. “I did offer to pay…”_

_“And you will,” Jon says decisively as Stephen waves over a waiter._

_Outside, they walk in silence, shivering against the stark cold that crept up on them as night fell. Their constant strides are interrupted by a bumbling group of New Yorkers taking up the entire width of the sidewalk. They maneuver around them as Jon clings to Stephen’s arm._

_"You're drunk," Stephen says as the air around them grows quieter and quieter._

_“Tell me something I don't know." Jon glances up at Stephen,_ _look of contemplation on his face._

_"Kiss me."_

_Stephen laughs nervously. “What?” He can’t make out Jon’s eyes in the shadows as they walk, can't tell yet if he's joking or not._

_“Kiss me,” Jon repeats. His voice is soft and tiptoes around Stephen's head before the meaning finally registers._

_Stephen makes no move to back away. Then, to break the tension, he lets himself laugh. “I don’t know…”_

_Jon_ smirks, _raises a brow. "C'mon, it's my birthday, we're young...ish."_

_It's the tone that gives him away. He says the words with an air of mockery and Stephen knows it’s a joke, a dare. Jon knows he won’t do it, the motherfucker._

_"Something tells me you don't go around every year daring your employees to kiss you," Stephen says._

_"I like you more than most." Jon allows more space to come between them, gives up quickly. But Stephen moves in, kisses him before he's able to properly think things through._

_“What are we doing?” Stephen's eyes crinkle as he smiles and asks the question._

_Jon, mind too muddled to think up some grand answer, tells the truth._

_"I don't know. I don’t know. I didn’t think you were actually going to- uh-" he makes a vague motion with his hands "- you’re good at that.”_

_Later that night, just as Stephen’s about to crawl into bed, Evie rolls over, mumbles in the dark. “Good night out?”_

_“Yeah, yeah,” Stephen replies. He can’t see much- his glasses are off and the room is darker than he’d like._

_She knows, God, she knows. He wouldn’t be thinking about it so much if Jon hadn’t teased him about it on the way to his apartment._

_“How old is he now?”_

_“Thirty-nine.”_

_“Hmm.”_

_And then she rolls over, falls asleep without bothering to say anything else._

_Stephen crawls in beside her, heart beating loud enough for her to hear in her dreams, and stares at the ceiling._

=====

Instead of going downstairs to do edit scripts like he's supposed to, Stephen heads into his office and rests his feet on his desk, ignores the coffee-induced flutter in his heart.

July 2016. It is eighty degrees in New York.

=====

_Stephen walks into the office on Monday and finds a twenty dollar bill underneath a stack of scripts. There's a hot pink post-it-note beside it._

_\- At least you bought a girl a drink first_

_He stares at the note and feels some weight (not all of it) lift of his chest._ _Then, for the first time that week, he lets himself laugh._

=====

“Coming down for the conventions?” Stephen calls him on a Sunday, early in the morning so Jon can’t make an excuse for not picking up the phone. “You got our e-mails, right?”

The clicking sound of a stove coming to life starts off faint in the background. It’s magnified as Stephen strains to hear against the static silence.

“It's a two-hour drive, Stephen.”

“Like you have anything better to do.” The words come out ruder than he intends. It’s the stress, surely. “I mean- it’s all live shows this week and maybe you can help. Just- Jon you know how hard it can get. Sorry for asking." He purses his lips.

“Stephen.”

“Sorry, I know you’re busy doing… whatever you’re doing.” He twists his tie anxiously.

Jon laughs. An awkward, nervous jitter. Stephen still can’t believe he actually bought a farm. “Of course I’ll come down,” Jon says once he realizes that panic in his voice is genuine.

“I-” Stephen lets go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding. The clicking sound in the background stops. “Thanks.”

=====

2004

_“We should stop.” Stephen breathes the phrase into the crook of Jon’s neck._

_“Why,” Jon murmurs, brows furrowed. He bites his bottom lip, tries to keep quiet as best as he can. Jon’s got his hand in his pants now, fingers fumbling around in a drunken haze. Stephen’s only slightly less sober._

_“Don’t- don’t remember,” Stephen admits._

_“I- There're people outside,” Jon says as if realizing it for the first time. He doesn’t take his hand off of Stephen. Stays close_ , _keeps their bodies connected as if breaking their touch will make him fade away._

_A hoot of joy erupts right outside the office door as if to confirm Jon’s suspicious. Then, heavy footsteps grow quieter and quieter as they travel farther down the hall._

_Jon can’t tell if it’s because he’s getting close or if he’s getting anxious- his heart begins to race._

_“We'll have_ _to be quiet then,” Stephen finally says._ _“Mm,” he barely grins as Jon shifts against him. The hall is dead silent. They’re waiting to see who’ll break first, and Stephen is winning. “I am going to hate myself in the morning.”_

 _Jon laughs nervously. “Because we're going to get three hours of sleep tonight or the_ _adultery?”_

_Stephen’s expression shifts into something darker. Who said anything about…_

_He fakes a smile instead. “Both.”_

It all goes downhill after that.

=====

_Tell her, don’t tell her. He weighs the options every day. It’s after the fifth time, when he’s driving home from work with feeling of Jon’s lips still on his, that he decides he won’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t._

_So he tells her._

=====

2016

“Going home?” Jon asks, riding high on post-live show adrenaline.

Stephen shoves his hands into his pockets. “No one’s there,” he points his chin into a vague direction and mumbles. “-left.”

Jon doesn’t ask. Stephen doesn’t want to answer.

“Too late to drive to Montclair anyways,” Stephen says. “I was just gonna sleep in my office but they booked me a room at the Ritz.”

“Fancy.”

Stephen shrugs and he can feel himself slipping into old habits again. It's the late nights, or staying up past twelve, or sharing a building with Jon for the first time in ten years. Don’t say it. Say it. Don’t say it. Say it.

Fuck, it’s been a while.

He shuts off his conscience (he's gotten good at that lately) and takes a deep breath.

He imagines the empty bed waiting for him at home. Locked doors, cold hardwood floors. It's the middle of summer, but home always seems to be  _freezing._

_Toe the wire. Careful now, careful._

Jon takes a seat next to him on the sofa, doesn't move away when their knees brush and press against each other.

_You're going to hate yourself._

Stephen runs a hand through his hair and sighs. Barely graying at the temples, but he already feels so old.

_I already do._

“Join me, would you?” Stephen tries to keep his voice light. Like it’s all still a joke, but not really.

Jon laughs. “We’re not… it’s been years. We can't..”

Stephen smiles. It's a nervous, awkward, lopsided smile that threatens to fall off his face, and Jon already knows the reason behind the expression. Hide the worry, hide the guilt.

Stephen drops the smile and looks at Jon,  _really_ looks at him for the first time in a long time. His chest feels hollow. “Yeah, I know.”

=====

It is two AM but they’ve both downed enough coffee to be up for days.

For now, his mind walks a wire, arms outstretched. He’s toeing a tightrope that hangs above streets so far below clouds block his view of the ground.

_Don’t fall off, don’t fall off. Eye the line, hold your breath, no sudden movements, you’ll be alright, you'll be alright, you'll be alright._

2:03. It’s dead silent in the hallway and Stephen’s certain that Jon can hear him breaking.

He slides the key into its slot. The light flashes green, and Stephen shoves the door open with a shoulder, inhales the dusty clean air of the room as Jon follows behind. It feels like deja vu.

But when was the last time they’ve done something like this?

Stephen flicks the lights on, head swirling with nostalgia. 

_Ah._

=====

_2005._

_Jon comes over after the first taping wraps up, finds Stephen in his old office and admires the walls that used to be his._

_“Thank you.” It’s been an hour since the audience left but it’s only now that he stops shaking in his shoes. Nervous. Haven’t felt that way since…_

_“You’re welcome. You did great.” Jon stares at the window. And he's happy to find that not much has been changed. It still smells like hastily-lit candles but there’s boxes lying around, some open, some still taped shut. There are new photos on the desk that face outwards, three smiling faces staring back at him…_

_“Oak?” Jon runs his hand flat against the surface of Stephen’s desk. Stupid question._

_“Pine,” Stephen says. The room is still. Jon clears his throat. Stephen notices that he's got this look in his eyes, the way he stands, it's like… like…_

_Do it. Don't do it._

_And then, for no reason_ _i_ _n particular, Jon laughs. “Come here.”_

_And Stephen doesn't have to be told twice. It’s the adrenaline replacing the anxiety now, and he approaches Jon, uses his arms to pin him against the door before he thinks anything through. “Thank you… thank you…”_

_And he kisses him because he can. Because he wants to. Kisses him because all these years he’s been perched on the edge of something, something. And he lets himself fall._

_Being with Jon- it feels like he's falling. There's that rush of adrenaline, the imminent thought of danger. It's so easy to make a mistake, one day they will be found out, something terrible is going to happen if they don't stop. The pavement is fast approaching._

_And he knows Jon feels the same way. That's why when Stephen breaks away, Jon pulls him in again before he can say anything else. Because if he talks t _he spell will be broken and the night will be over. And they’ll both go back to their homes and act like nothing had happened at all.__

=====

__And the guilt. God, the guilt. It's enough to last lifetimes._ _

=====

2016.

Jon walks across the empty hotel room, gazes out of the window. He turns around finds Stephen still standing by the door.

Jon sighs. “Stop it.”

It only takes a second to understand what he’s referring to but Stephen asks a question anyways. “Stop what?”

“You think too much.”

“And you don’t?”

A beat passes.

“I do. I just… know when to stop.” Jon laughs. It's self-deprecating, and Stephen hates it.

And Stephen feels it. Feels the coil of muscles in the back of his neck unwind, feels all the stress begun to unfurl. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, not with Jon.

Jon’s the one to close the space between them. He brings his face inches from Stephen’s, looks into his eyes and knows how to get his mind to shut up, to stop thinking and feel guiltless for the first time in a long time. The nuance in facial expression is the first giveaway. It’s like a tic. Dark expression, Jon has a purpose.

It's a wordless dance. They already know all the steps, established years ago to the music of their minds running a million miles an hour.

On the bed, pants off, ties undone, just like that. Lights are still on (they almost never turn them off anyway) and Jon’s muttering something into his good ear, sweet, disgusting dirty nothings that make Stephen forget everything he’s supposed to worry about.

And maybe that’s it. That’s why he keeps coming back to this, over and over again. He wants to forget, lives for the few seconds of bliss in which he spends thinking about nothing but the sensation of skin to skin, of Jon’s lips on his.

Like when you wake up in a friend’s house, unaware of where you are.

He loves being unaware.

And, fuck- Jon laughs as Stephen fumbles around and fails to pull his own shirt over his head- they’re not as young as they used to be.

=====

_He lives for the way Jon laughs when he’s not supposed to. It’s the way he curses Stephen with his eyes as he brings the blue sheets up to his face, defeated, makes Stephen wants to push more. He wants to see Jon crack up so badly, yearns for the thrill of making him break in front of an audience. He ad-libs a bit until Jon finally has to turn away from the camera before it can catch his face getting redder and redder._

_Later, Jon grabs at him a little too tightly, pulls at his hair a little too hard as Stephen writhes underneath him in pleasure. Punishment, punishment well deserved, Stephen thinks._

_But to see Jon smile like that. It’s worth it._

=====

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

Stephen looks at the clock. It’s 12AM already. “Ah, right.”

“It’s late, you know that."

“I know. Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it. Things will get better.”

Stephen nods even though he doesn't believe him.

“You're gonna stop calling me up one day,” Jon says. “You probably will tomorrow-," he stops to laugh,"- but one day, you know, you… won’t.”

And Stephen just stares. Has it already been a week?

Regret doesn't consume Jon like it consumes him, and Stephen's jealous. He doesn’t want to cause a problem, Stephen knows. Think about his kids. Fade into the background. Accept life for what it is. At some point, you have to learn to live with yourself.

Stephen nods, watches Jon walk away and close the door. Stephen leans back in his chair and puts his feet on the desk, right ankle over left.

July 2016. It is eighty degrees in New York.

**Author's Note:**

> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/4e/41/ef/4e41efd491d29bfd2ff1ac1f192247e1.jpg


End file.
